


The Song of Songs

by fivethingsunmixed



Series: Dream A Little Dream of Me [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Hallucinations, How Did We Get Here Plot, Slightly dark fluff, Wooing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-28 18:42:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3865582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fivethingsunmixed/pseuds/fivethingsunmixed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony is relaxing one morning when he receives a Priority One Distress Signal from Avengers HQ, and arrives to find the HQ trashed and the Avengers hallucinating. What went wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to Butterflies in the Moonlight. While you could probably read it without having read that, certain character dynamics will make minimal sense if you haven't already. This will also be multi-chapter.

“Sir?”

 

“FRIDAY,” said Tony, irritated, as he stalked through the lounge of his new condo, “I am very busy.”

 

“Sir, all your appointments for the day have been cancelled…”

 

“In favor of a more _important_ one…”

 

“Oh?” Pepper smiled, her long tan legs stretching out against the cream of the sofa. Tony paused to admire the loveliness of the contrast, “I’m more important than…?”

 

“Oh, Nick Fury. The President. Steve. Any number of people, really.”

 

Her blue eyes crinkled with a smile, and she stood to grasp Tony’s t-shirt and drag him into a long, luxurious kiss.

 

“Sir, this is rather important.”

 

“Urgh, what _is_ it, you moment-destroying AI? Are they here to take our freedom?”

 

“Quite possibly, sir. There’s a Priority One Distress Signal coming from Avengers HQ.”

 

Both Pepper and Tony paused, blinking confusedly at one another.

 

“Priority One Distress goes to _me_?”

 

“In this instance, yes.”

 

“Fine. Was there an attached message?”

 

Through a hail of static, Rhodey’s voice could just be made out.

 

“Tony, man, some _real_ shit is going down here. I don’t know what kinda pranks you’re playing with JARVIS’s program, but get the _hell_ down here _now_!”

 

There was a long, rather pregnant, pause.

 

“I thought JARVIS was gone…” said Pepper slowly.

 

“Uploaded into Vision. I’d better take the suit.”

 

“Hey?”

 

“Hm?”

 

Gently, Pepper cupped Tony’s face, staring at his eyes, as if she could change the course of the day by staring long enough, before leaving another long, lingering kiss.

 

“Be careful, all right?”

 

Tony smiled wickedly.

 

“Kiss me like that again and I just might try.”

-

Avengers HQ looked silent when Tony arrived.

 

...too silent. Normally military personnel were everywhere, SHIELD was buzzing out of every orifice, but no. Today, it was as still as a grave.

 

“I really hope I don’t end up regretting that choice of phrase.” commented Tony idly as he wandered into the HQ, finding, to his bafflement, Natasha, just outside the door, shivering and shaking.

 

“Ghosts….ghosts...ghosts…”

 

“Um...Natasha? Tash? Widow? You there?”

 

“Ghosts...ghosts...ghosts…”

 

“...well this is making for rousing discussion. Iron Legion, stand watch over Widow.”

 

“Aye.”

 

A suit detached from the silent row behind him, and stood silent sentry over the huddled form of Natasha Romanov.

 

Inside the HQ, the situation was not much better. It seemed that both military and medical personnel had fled the building, and it looked as if some sort of fight had gone on - glass windows were shattered everywhere, doors were knocked down.

 

“The hell happened here…?” muttered Tony.

 

“ _TONY_!” yelled a voice, and abruptly Tony was being tackled by War Machine, who was attempting to peel off his armor, “Tony, I gotta get you outta that armor, man, how was the funvee?”

 

“The...funvee…? Rhodey, that was _years_ ago, are you okay?” Tony didn’t think Rhodey heard his statement, though, because something else caught his attention, and he went rushing off towards it, yelling something unintelligible.

 

A muffled crashing caught Tony’s ears, and he turned to find Sam Wilson dragging his bed, wardrobe and nightstand out of his room, sobbing as he did so.

 

He turned to stare at Tony, eyes wide and tear-streaked.

 

“We have to bury them,” he whispered softly.

 

“Okay,” said Tony, “Am I the only person in this building who is _not_ totally fucking crazy?”

 

“Nope,” said a voice above him.

 

“Clint? Vision? You two are the _sane_ ones?” he asked, watched the two drop from above (Clint onto his feet, Vision to about two inches off the ground).

 

“We think so,” said Vision, “However, we have been unable to locate either Wanda or Captain Rogers.”

 

“So...the Witch capable of turning people’s sanities inside out is missing...and the massively strong soldier is gone too?”

 

“Sir, both Steve and Wanda’s rooms have had their Internal Locks activated.”

 

“Thanks, Friday. Are there life signs within them?”

 

“Sir, once the Internal Locks activate they become unscannable.”

 

“Oh yeah, I did do that didn’t I? Great. Welp. Who should we start with?”

 

“Wanda,” said Vision firmly, to the surprise of Tony. Clint smirked.

 

“Any reason we wanna start with the potentially traitorous Witch who was probably responsible for all of this?”

 

“She’s also probably the only one who can set them all to rights. Unless _you_ feel like peeling Rhodey out of his armor?" said Clint with a raised eyebrow.

 

Tony grimaced.

 

“Fine. We deal with the little Witch first.”

 

A synthetic muscle twitched under Vision’s eye, but other than that, he didn’t respond, and simply dropped the last couple of inches to the floor, leading the way.

 

“So, uh, what’s going on? Have I missed something?” Tony asked Clint, “I feel really _weird_ asking you, by the way.”

 

Clint snickered.

 

“Oh, nothing. Just...well, it’s spring, isn’t it? _Love’s_ in the air.”

 

“More like _crazy_ is in the air, Barton.”

-

The area around Wanda’s room was absolutely savaged. Doors had been torn loose, walls had been wrecked, and glass fragments lay everywhere.

 

“Wait,” said the Vision, “I don’t think this damage was Wanda’s doing.”

 

“You’re right,” replied Tony, “FRIDAY, back me up here: those marks were made by…?”

 

“Judging by the intensity and the movement, I would say Captain Roger’s shield, sir.”

 

“And Rogers is?”

 

“His life-signs do not appear to be registering on the HQ premises, which means he’s either in his room or has left.”

 

“Urgh. Great. This is just one big mess after another.”

 

As Tony complained viciously about the mess, Vision reached Wanda’s door and gently knocked.

 

“Wanda? It’s Vision.”

 

Abruptly, there was a sound of gears shifting with great reluctance, and with a great deal of grinding the door opened, revealing a tired-looking Wanda, who burst into tears and flung herself into Vision’s arms, babbling in Sokovian.

 

“Uh…”

 

“Told you so,” said Clint, still watching the corridors warily.

 

“Ah…”

 

“Wanda, why are you asking my forgiveness? Are you responsible for all of this?”

 

“It...it was an accident.” she sniffed, wiping her eyes, “I was trying to sleep and you were gone and…”

 

“Okay, okay, okay, what? You guys _sleep_ together now?” Tony turned to Vision, “You sleep _at all_?”

 

“Wanda has trouble sleeping. I gave permission for her to read my thoughts while she sleeps. It seemed to bring her a measure of peace. But then I left for a week and…”

 

“And I had the nightmares, and…”

 

  
“Okay.” said Tony, stomping a foot. “Let’s start from the _very_ beginning…”


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vision begins to question his feelings towards Wanda, and asks the other Avengers their opinions.

_I am the rose of Sharon and the lily of the valleys_

_As the lily among the thorns, so is my love among my daughters_

_As the apple tree among the trees of the woods, so is my beloved among the sons. I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste._

 

_Two weeks previous…_

To call the state of mind Vision was in ‘confused’ would be to give new meaning and definition to the word.

 

Vision was not merely confused. He was baffled.

 

He was baffled as to why Wanda’s smile and kiss meant so much to him - why he anticipated, no _eagerly awaited_ seeing her rise each morning, kiss him gently on the cheek, and then seemed to lose all his spirits when she left the room. He was puzzled by why hearing her thank him, or praise him, or even just say his name - a silly name, a moniker - was enough to draw a smile out of him.

 

He was only a few months old, and whenever Wanda entered a room, he felt it. He was keenly aware of the curve of her cheek, the way her hair brushes against the bone of her ear, the messy curls that fell from her bun when she practiced self-defense with Black Widow. The swoop of her eyelashes, the curve of her lips.

 

Yes, Vision was baffled. Although, the actual words he used was…

 

“Colonel Rhodes?”

 

Rhodey looked up from his morning coffee and smiled wearily.

 

“...I think I might be going insane.”

 

“Yeah, JARVIS, whatever you say.”

 

“I’m not JARVIS. I am Vision.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, funny, whatever. Tell Tony it was real funny.”

 

“But I…”

 

“Mmmmm. Cute. See ya, buddy.”

 

Rhodey picked up his cup of coffee and wandered away to talk to one of the military experts. Focussing, Vision realized they were chatting about the latest upgrades to the planes.

 

“Yeah, he’s got a stick up his ass, right?” said a cheerful voice.

 

Vision half-turned in his seat to see Sam Wilson grinning like the proverbial Cheshire Cat, before lazily turning the seat around and draping himself over it.

 

“If you insist, Sam.” replied Vision.

 

Sam took a long drink of coffee.

 

“So what’s bugging you?”

 

“It’s...ah...Wanda.”

 

“The cute little girl? I thought you and her got along like a house on fire. Or is that the problem?”

 

“I...I’m not sure I understand.”

 

“Do you...like... _like_...Wanda?”

 

“I...think so?”

 

“Well...y’know...do you think about her a lot? Care about her? Think she’s cute?”

 

“I think the composition of her features is very attractive.”

 

“Heh,” Sam chuckled into his mug, “You silver-tongued rascal. For the record though, most girls prefer ‘cute’ or ‘beautiful’.”

 

“...Cute?”

 

“Well, I mean, you love her right! You wanna tell her someday. Don’t end up like Cap or Tash.”

 

“Love. My database is incomplete on the subject on love.”

 

“Figures. You were made by Tony, Bruce and Ultron, and what those guys don’t know about love could fill an _ocean_.”

 

For a few moments, there was a companionable silence between the two Avengers, which Sam used to scoff down some toast.

 

“Sam? How would _you_ define love?”

 

“Me? Whoa, man, that’s a deep topic. I guess, uh...I guess love is like, when you want someone to be happy, but you’re willing to let them be happy... _without_ you. You know, the old saying, if you love something let it go, if it comes back it will always be yours, if it doesn’t it was never meant to be?”

 

“No.”

 

“Yeah, that’s not the sort of philosophy I can see a guy like Tony ascribing to. Look. You go look it up yourself, because it is…” Sam winced at his watch, “Urgh, nine-thirty, and I gotta go see Cap about a man. But when I am woken up a bit more, I will gladly talk philosophy of love with you, okay?”

 

As Sam left, Vision mused that he was willing to change his perspective.

 

He was no longer in insane.

 

He was now _potentially in love_ and _also_ insane.

-

“Natasha?”

 

Natasha was staring off into space as she often did, her eyes haunted by something unnameable and imprecise. Wanda had mentioned that she often dreamed of her last talk with Bruce, but refused to elaborate.

 

“Natasha, I have a question.”

 

“Yes, Vision?”

 

Her eyes seemed particularly haunted when she spoke to Vision, as if, just over his shoulder, she could see the ghost of Bruce watching her and smiling, taunting her with how he wasn’t there.

 

“I wanted to ask you a question.”

 

“Sure.” Her eyes snapped onto Vision, disconcertingly focussed, and it occurred to Vision that of all the people in the HQ, she probably was the most dangerous, because she would have the least qualms with killing him.

 

“How does one define ‘love’?”

 

Even to Vision, the air seemed to become noticeably icier, colder, filled with shadows as he asked the question, when suddenly a blur of motion caught his arm and slammed him into the floor with a crack.

 

Distantly, he heard Natasha’s boots striding off.

-

“She _threw you_  into the _floor_?”

 

It was a couple of hours later, and Vision had recovered from his meeting with the floor.

 

“Yes, Captain.”

 

“What in the hell did you say to provoke that?”

 

“I asked how one would define love.”

 

Steve Rogers looked at Vision, and his mouth crooked into a smile.

 

“Well, she probably needed to hear it. But it still probably hurt. So...why are you going around asking people to define ‘love’?”

 

“I think I am either insane, or in love, or both.”

 

“Well, love is definitely a kind of insanity. No greater love hath any man…”

 

“...yes?”

 

“Oh. Uh… than to lay down his life for his friends.”

 

“John: 15: 13.”

 

“That’s the one.”

 

Vision was silent as Steve continued to gently examine Vision’s head and arm.

 

“Well, you don’t seem to have taken any severe damage, not that I can really _tell_ , but given that you’re at least partially vibranium, you should be fine.”

 

“Captain?”

 

“Yup?”

 

“I would like to request some leave.”

 

“Leave?”

 

“Yes. I am going on leave to visit Agent Barton and his family.”

 

“To help with your...independent study?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Steve smiled.

 

“You know, love really isn’t as complicated as you’re making it out to be.”

 

“With all due respect sir...it really is.”

 

Steve chuckled dryly.

 

“All right then, soldier. Permission granted. And good luck.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem quoted in this and all other chapters is from the Song of Solomon, also called the Song of Songs.


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vision's trip has consequences for Wanda and the team...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, the switch in tenses is deliberate. Secondly, minor trigger warnings for PTSD sufferers relating to war and violence. If you found the way the boys were acting in the prologue triggering, this may not be the fic for you, because it is only getting worse.

_He brought me to the banqueting house, and his banner over me was love._

_Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples: for I am sick of love._

_His left hand is under my head, and his right hand doth embrace me._

 

“Where’s Vision?”

 

It’s the first words out of Wanda’s mouth the morning after Vision has left, and Steve can’t help but smile. Then he sees the look on her face - panicked, frightened, and his smile vanishes in an instant.

 

“Wanda?”

 

“Where - where is Vision? He wasn’t here last night, I couldn’t - _where is he_?”

 

“Wanda, you’re shaking - have you slept?”

 

“How...how could I?” she’s starting to cry, helpless and frightened, and Steve grabs her by the shoulders and shakes her until her eyes focus on his, eyes that are lost and bewildered.

 

“Wanda. Listen to me. Are you listening?” she nods, but even though her eyes meet his, there’s an odd sense that her eyes are focussed elsewhere, on a plane Steve cannot see, “Vision has left to go visit the Barton’s. He’ll be back in a few days’. He is fine. Your training for the day is cancelled. Get some _sleep_.”

 

Tears still leaking from Wanda’s eyes, she nods again, and stands up, walking away, and it occurs to Steve that he has never seen any woman look so devoid of hope.

-

Wanda sleeps.

 

_In Sam’s nightmares, he is surrounded by the dead, by corpses, by nothing less and nothing more than that -_

Sam flinches mid-run, caught be a strange of deja vu, and caught by a stronger sense that he was walking through a graveyard. He shrugs it off and continues the run.

 

_In Natasha’s dreams, she walks the Red Room, around and around, and the ghosts of all she has killed mock her, twist her face into ghastly monstrous shapes, until she is confronted with the thing she fears the most: the image of herself as she might be, soft, feminine and motherly -_

 

Washing her face for the day, Natasha glances into the mirror and for a brief, frightened instance, sees the nightmare-her. Without thinking, she reacts, punching the mirror, and fracturing her own reflection, which is now pale, distorted, and her own.

 

_Rhodey’s dreams are nothing but war: bullets hailing down, his friend’s comatose body, life barely flickering in it, sand gulping up all the blood and water it can take and still having room for more -_

Rhodey pauses, uneasy with the feeling that he has left something undone. For a brief moment, the AC of Avengers HQ screams like the winds of Afghanistan, and the choppy sound of a fan nearby is the rattling of a bullet.

 

_Steve’s nightmares are rage, rage and the hot heat of a fight, bearing down, blood on his knuckles and his skin and the glorious joy of winning -_

Steve freezes where he stands, aware that is something is wrong, feeling off-kilter and unsure as to why.

-

When Wanda’s awakens from her nap, she notices that all her friends seem slightly on edge. Natasha is monosyllabic, and both Rhodey and Sam’s potshots at one another seem less friendly, more baited, as if they want a fight. Steve is strangest of all: normally chatty and congenial, he has completely retreated inside himself, seeming as if he is less a man, more an image of marble.

-

Wanda, still weary from being awake all night, goes to bed early.

-

_Corpses, piled high -_

\- for a brief second, Sam mistakes a pile of pillows in the rec room for a corpse. When his vision focusses enough to dismiss the mirage, he nods, then calmly walks to the bathroom, where he vomits up his lunch.

 

_Ghosts, screaming vengeance -_

\- Natasha starts hearing things. At first she dismisses it as the strange acoustics of Avengers HQ, but when one of the voices hisses details that only she knows, she vanishes outside, to breathe in the clean air, and stare, longingly, at the green of the grass.

 

_Bullets, a dying friend -_

\- Rhodey is midway through a conversation with a tech, when he idly comments that he’ll need to go to the Stark Expo to watch Justin Hammer make his presentation.

 

“Uh, Colonel Rhodes? Justin Hammer is still in prison.”

 

Rhodey blinks, puzzled, and then brushes off the mistake with a smile.

 

“Of course he is. Yeah, me, Tony and Widow put him away good, didn’t we?”

 

“Are you...feeling okay?”

 

_Rage, the joy of a fight -_

\- Steve is halfway through a spar with one of the SHIELD officers when the rage returns.

 

Three broken windows, seven destroyed walls, and five broken limbs later, the red fog vanishes, and Steve does the only logical thing he can think of: locks himself inside his room, with orders to not let him out for the forseeable future.

-

Vision, meanwhile, arrived at the Barton farm. The sun was setting, as Clint sat on one of the steps of the porch, idly carving something.

 

“Cap sent me a message, warned me you were coming.” Clint smiled, though his tone was cool, “What’s up big guy?”

 

“I need to know what love is,” said Vision, “And I need to know what you do if you love somebody.”

 

Clint blinked.

 

 


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint, Vision and Laura discuss love, self-sacrifice and dating.

_I charge you, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, by the roes, and by the hinds of the field, that ye stir not up nor awake my love, till he please._

_The voice of my beloved! behold, he cometh leaping upon the mountains, skipping upon the hills._

_My beloved is like a roe or a young hart: behold, he standeth behind our wall, he looketh forth at the windows, shewing himself through the lattice._

 

Early morning light streamed in through the kitchen windows of the Barton farmhouse, and Clint and Laura’s two eldest children were gleefully engaged in constructing what looked like the most complex train track in all of history.

 

The youngest Barton, Nathaniel Pietro, sat silently in his crib, watching proceedings. Vision kneeled next to him and stared at him.

 

“Hello,” he said carefully to the baby, who, seeing a humanoid face, gurgled happily and smiled.

 

“So, you want to know about love, eh?” asked Clint, dressed for the day in work clothes.

 

“As I said, Agent Barton,” replied Vision, with a careful nod.

 

“Bah, none of that,” said Clint, “Just tell me: it’s not Tash, right?”

 

Vision, caught off-guard, turned to stare at Clint.

 

“...Ah...no...Agent Romanoff is not the object of my affections, er...Clint. It’s Wanda.”

 

“Oh. _Oh_. Oh, that’s fine.”

 

As Vision puzzled over Clint’s reaction, Nathaniel took this moment to smear some mushed banana, the remains of his breakfast, over Vision’s face.

 

“Thank you, Nathaniel, but I do not require sustenance,” replied the Vision dryly as he wiped off the banana. Clint chuckled, scooping up the baby.

 

“He’s a messy little one, innee?” cooed the father, and the baby obligingly giggled, “I ask because last I heard, Tash was still mooning over Banner.”

 

“That does, sadly, still appear to be the case.”

 

“Well, if she ever gets a clear lead on him, it’ll be one hell of a punch she delivers when she finds him, that’s for sure.”

 

“She spends a great deal of time looking sad, and attempted to knock me unconscious when I asked her to define love.”

 

Clint sighed.

 

“Tash probably thought you were trying to insinuate something. She’ll apologize when she realizes it was an innocent question.”

 

Clint’s whole face lit up as Laura walked in from outside, a smile that started from his eyes and worked it’s way out to his mouth.

 

“I’ll take little Nate, darling,” said Laura, “What are you two talking about?”

 

“Love,” said Clint, “Vision wants a definition.”

 

“That’s easy,” laughed Laura, taking the baby out of Clint’s arms, and waltzing over to Vision. Her body was still heavy from pregnancy, and laugh lines were gathered at her eyes and mouth, curling like concertinas as she smiled at Vision, “Love is the nature of self-sacrifice.”

 

As she walked past Vision, he noticed a faint worry crease on her brow, and signs of stress in the hollow of her cheeks. If love was the nature of self-sacrifice, he wondered, what did it mean to be the ones possibly _being_ sacrificed?

 

“Love doesn’t care about dignity,” added Clint as Laura ushered the children outside, “or pride. It it what it is. I’m sure you’ve done something foolishly stupid for Wanda by now. That’s love.”

 

Vision recalled his reluctance over allowing her in his mind, and his eventual acceptance.

 

“So. I’m in love. What...do I do now?”

 

“Well,” said Clint, leaning back with a wry grin, “That’s the hard part. _Now_ you gotta ask her on a _date_.”

 

“OED: Edible fruit of palm tree? Or time during which something lasts?”

 

“No, a _date_. A romantic get-together with somebody.”

 

“...romantic liasion?”

 

“Yeah, that’s the one. You liase _romantically_. You know, with flowers and poetry and alcohol.”

 

Vision pondered this.

 

“I don’t think Wanda cares for flowers very much, although I understand she enjoys poetry, and I think it would be rude to offer her alcohol as alcohol has no practical purpose for me.”

 

Clint stared at Vision for a long second.

 

“Anyone ever tell you talking with you is like being in a game of Charades?”

 

“Similar comments have been made, yes.”

 

“You don’t necessarily _literally_ get her all these things. You casually enquire - mostly around her friends - as to the sorts of things she _likes_. Then, you get her some of the things she likes. So, if she likes wine, you get her a bottle of wine on the date. If she likes hard liquor, you get her some whiskey.”

 

“I notice you’re relating most of these back to alcohol.”

 

“Most of my loves may have been hard drinkers. And Laura won my heart by drinking me under the table.”

 

Vision was silent for a long moment.

 

“Given that you now have three children, I must assume the first date was spectacular.”

 

Clint laughed uproariously, head thrown back, his laughter a hard crack against the silence of the morning.

 

“Hey, how about when you go back, I’ll head with you and give you a hand. Asking women out is hard work, man.”

 

“Is it?”

 

Clint raised an eyebrow at Vision, darkly amused.

 

“You tell me.”

 

Vision thought it over. Thought of asking Wanda, of her saying no, her repulsion, her anger, her…

 

“I think I would quite like that, Clint.”

-

Avengers HQ was a buzzing beehive when they returned five days later.

 

“Was it necessary to take the pick-up truck?” asked Vision.

 

“Now that Fury has the Quinjet again, I’m kind of hampered in my means of travel,” replied Clint dryly, “But by all means, complain again if you must.”

 

“Oh my god! Agent Barton! Vision! You have to help us!” it was a member of the medical staff.

 

“What’s going on?” replied Clint.

 

“Colonel Rhodes keeps running around in his armor crashing into things, Agent Wilson keeps dragging things out and burying them, and Captain Rogers periodically bursts out of his room and attacks people! The only members of the Avengers _not_ attacking people are Agent Romanoff and Agent Maximoff, and Agent Romanoff is catatonic and no one has _seen_ Agent Maximoff!”

 

“ _One week_ ,” muttered Vision, slapping his face into his palm, “One. Week.”

 

“Something wrong, buddy?” asked Clint, taking out his bow and arrow.

 

“I think I may need a talk with Wanda when this is over.”

 

“Okay. In the meantime, we need to get Avengers HQ evacuated of people the Avengers can hurt and send out a Distress Signal, Priority One.”

 

“If you organize the medical and military staff, I will organize the Distress Signal, but it will have to be sent from inside the compound.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I will be able to encode it sufficiently to ensure that if Maximoff has gone rogue she is unaware that we are currently aiding and rebuilding the Avengers, and if she is not, and an outsider is responsible, then no other damage is done.”

 

Clint shrugged.

 

“Hey, you’re the full time Avenger here, buddy. I just want to help you get a date.”

 

 


	5. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We return to present day to sort out the finer details, and fix this damn mess. Steve Rogers also proves to be the best wingman in the universe.

_My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up my love, my fair one, and come away._

_For lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone;_

_The flowers appear on this earth; the time of the singing of birds has come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land;_

_The fig tree putteth forth it’s green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell._

_Arise my love, my fair one, and come away._

 

Present Day…

“Okay,” said Tony, rubbing his forehead and trying hard not to have a migraine, “You’re telling me that Vision went away for a week to visit Barton...for an undisclosed reason...and because Wanda uses Vision’s brain as a teddy bear focus type thing, she couldn’t sleep, leading her to lose control of her power and send the rest of the team _completely psycho_.”

 

“Yup,” said Clint, picking dirt of his nails with an arrowhead, “that is about the size and shape of it.”

 

“One question: why did the transmission come with a message from _Rhodey_ and not, I dunno, _you guys_?”

 

“I...overestimated my ability to take on Colonel Rhodes. The distress signal was meant to go to you and Nick Fury, but just as I was about to record my message to you, Colonel Rhodes intercepted me and recorded his message over the top. The static was due to fact that I was recording in an already densely-damaged area.”

 

“Why is everybody around here an idiot?” asked Tony.

 

“We had to make up for idiocy after getting rid of you,” quipped Clint. Tony glared.

 

“Clint,” said Vision, “I feel this may not be the most constructive use of our time. Wanda is here: she is the only one who can set the team back to rights.”

 

“Aye, Vision.”

 

“Oh, so you’ll take orders from something I _made_ but not _me_?” muttered Tony to Clint.

 

“The thing you made has _so_ much more common sense than you. Maybe you should program that into your suit?”

 

“Wanda?” said Vision gently. The tired young woman stirred from where she slumped against him.

 

“Your mind…” she murmured, “it’s so beautiful and calm there. I want to stay.”

 

“You can’t, Wanda.” whispered Vision, before gently pressing his lips on her forehead, “You need to understand: everyone suspects you. Even I, briefly.”

 

Her eyes filled with tears, Wanda stared up at Vision.

 

“I _was_ responsible for all of this, wasn’t I?”

 

“Yes. Which is why you must be the one to set it right. Can you do it from here?”

 

“No. When I’m awake I need to be close by in order to affect the change.”

 

“Hey, wait,” said Clint, suddenly, as if struck by an idea, “why don’t we herd all the bad boys to a room and then you just hit a big reset button? Can you do that?”

 

Vision felt Wanda grasp his hand tightly.

 

“Yes, but…”

 

“But?” asked Tony.

 

“Afterwards...can I sleep? With Vision watching over me? Please?”

 

To Tony’s surprise, Clint replied in a surprisingly gentle tone of voice.

 

“Wanda, after you set everything to right, you can sleep as long as you like.”

-

“Whoa, Rhodey, gotta catch me!” yelled Tony. Rhodey, caught in a dream-memory, yelled furiously, and flew through the corridors towards the airbase, where Vision awaited, sliding his hand smoothly through the armor, short-circuiting it.

 

“FRIDAY, slam-hack Rhodey’s suit, get him out of there!” ordered Tony.

 

“The Warmachine suit has almost completely undone the shortcircuiting.”

 

“Of course it has, it’s my design, just open the suit up and get Rhodey out!”

 

A few tense moments passed, as the Warmachine suit, which was bent over, slowly sparked, lit up, stood...and then spat out a writhing, tossing Rhodey.

-

“Come on, Tash, come on, just follow me, no ghosts where we’re going…” said Clint as he grasped Natasha by the hand and gently led her towards the airbase.

 

“You promise?” she whispered past numb lips.

 

“I promise. Just keep your eyes on me, listen to my voice, there’s a good girl, come on, come on, we’re almost there, here we go…”

 

“ _There are ghosts_!” she screeched the instant the two stepped inside, and with an irritated noise, Clint slammed his electric-shock arrow into her forehead, knocking her unconscious.

 

Tony gave him a startled look.

 

“What?”

-

“Agent Wilson?” said Vision gently.

 

“So many corpses...so much blood…” Sam stared at the hole he was digging in despair.

 

“I believe if you come with me, you may find more…”

 

Sam looked at the Vision with eyes that looked close to dead.

 

“But who will bury these ones?”

 

After a moment of pondering the logic of the question, Vision simply knelt down, gently scooped up the unresisting Sam, and flew him into the airbase, where he sobbed and raged.

-

“This is gonna suck,” said Tony.

 

“It needs to be _done_ ,” replied Vision.

 

“That doesn’t mean it’s gonna suck less.”

 

With a noise as close to irritated as he had ever heard the synthoid get, Vision phased his hand through the door to Steve’s room, unlocking it.

 

With a series of angry grinding noises, the door opened, revealing Steve, covered in bruises and scrapes, and a truly demolished room.

 

The cold, hard look in Steve’s eyes was unlike any that the two men had seen previous.

 

“Run?” asked Tony.

 

“Run,” replied Vision.

 

The two fled, dodging Steve’s shield, as he silently but swiftly followed, until -

 

_ZING_

 

\- a second electric shock arrow from Clint caught him in the face just as they reached the airbase.

 

Everyone turned to stare at Clint.

 

“You’re welcome?” he replied.

-

“I don’t think I can do this,” Wanda says to Vision, frightened as she looks at the Avengers - two comatose, two babbling hysterically.

 

“Yes you can, Wanda,” says Vision, “You simply have to project...something peaceful. Serene. Colourful.”

 

Wanda’s face lights up.

 

“Like a suncatcher! There was a glassblower in my hometown who used to make them out of the scraps of colored glass, and we would hang them in our bedrooms, and when the sun caught them the whole room would turn different colors, catching the light in different ways…”

 

Vision smiles.

 

“Yes, Wanda. Like a suncatcher.”

 

Wanda closes. her eyes, and the red fog spins around, less ominous than it had been when she was fighting, now gentler, reminiscent of cherry blossoms, almost, as it sweeps through the room -

 

_sun shining on coloured glass, catching the light, refracting it, perfecting it, leaving small miracles of red, blue, green and gold on the ceiling, walls and floor_

\- Natasha’s eyes open and she rubs her head -

 

_the crunch of a fresh apple between young teeth, the sharp sweetness of lemon curd on your tongue, the sensation of sand between your toes_

\- Sam sits up straight, wonders at the dampness of his cheeks, and the mud on his hands.

 

_the pure serenity of a forest, every shade of emerald imaginable, as birds tweet gently and children play and call_

\- Steve awakes abruptly, and sets down his shield, embarrassed.

 

_the soft songs of Sokovia, of a mothers holding their babes, of men in the streets, of couples arguing, the songs that say to you ‘yes, it is all right, everything is fine for tonight’_

\- Rhodey shakes his head, heart slowly returning to normal.

 

“What...happened?” he asks.

 

“I...lost control of my power,” replies Wanda, “I caused all of you to experience your worst nightmares.”

 

She states it baldly, which is why she is puzzled when Steve looks up at her and Vision and smiles.

 

“I get the feeling though,” says Steve slowly, “that this was...an _anticipated_ response to something.”

 

Wanda does not reply.

 

“I’ll be blunt: was this what you meant when you referred to being frightened of Vision leaving?”

 

“...yes.”

 

Vision sighs.

 

“Wanda, you must learn better control over your power. I cannot be by your side all the time.”

 

Her eyes are huge and wet, which Steve seems totally oblivious of when he notes,

 

“I don’t see why not.”

 

Avengers, past and present, stare at him.

 

“The _hell_ did you just say?” asks Sam.

 

“Until Wanda learns to control her powers while she’s asleep, I don’t see why she and Vision can’t be paired for every mission. We’ll put this on the record: until Wanda learns to control her power, she and Vision _will_ be paired together, or a different agent will be sent in their place.” Steve, pretending not to see the blind happiness on both Wanda and Vision’s faces, looks mildly around the room.

 

“Any objections?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I copped out a bit. I may come back later and do some shortfics filling in Clint and Vision's time at the Avengers HQ during Crazy!Time, but I wanted to get back to the present, and I'm not actually a very strong action writer. One more (planned) chapter to go. After that it's anybody's guess.


	6. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda recovers, and Vision is there.

_O, my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for thy voice is sweet, and thy countenance is comely._

_Take us the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil the vines: for our vines have tender grapes._

_My beloved is mine and I am his: he feedeth among the lilies._

_Until the day break and the shadows flee away, turn my beloved, and be thou like a roe or a young hart upon the mountains of Bether._

 

Wanda sleeps.

 

_In Visions mind, kaleidoscopes turn to butterflies turn to flowers and turn back again, and the constant shift of color soothes her, helps her sleep…_

As Vision watches, the lines ease from Wanda’s mouth and eyes, the shadows crawl away from her skin, and he thinks it is fair to say that in this moment, he truly agrees with Clint’s estimation: he loves her.

-

It starts with a plant.

 

A plant gets dropped off at Wanda’s room. She examines it, and finds that little caterpillars are living on it. Curious, she goes to discuss it with one of the scientists who keeps their hydroponics lab running.

 

“Oh!” she says with a grin, “It’s a swan plant. They’re often sold with caterpillars. Eventually, it’ll turn into a monarch butterfly. Best if you keep it in the roof garden.”

 

Wanda nods, and is assiduous in watering the plant and tracking the caterpillars’ movements. They’re sweet things, striped heavily with white, yellow and black, and it’s not long before they’re all hiding in chrysalises.

 

The day the chrysalises are open and the swan plant is covered in monarchs drying their new bodies, their gaudy wings as lovely as a child’s new dress, Wanda finds that somebody has hung up suncatchers in her room, a whole series of them. When the morning light comes through her window, a beautiful kaleidoscope fractures along her wall, like a ladder of light.

 

The monarchs linger for a few days, before fluttering off to find new homes. Wanda continues to tend the swan plant.

 

One day, she finds a tiny piece of paper, rolled up, and gently attached to the plant.

 

She unattaches it and reads it:

 

_Who is she that looketh forth as the morning, fair as the moon, clear as the sun, and terrible as an army with banners?_

_I went down into the garden of nuts to see the fruits of the valley, and to see whether the vine flourished, and the pomegranates budded._

_Or ever I was aware, my soul made me like the chariots of Amminadib._

 

She hears, behind her, the flap of a cape, and turns to see Vision, floating off the side of the roof, watching her, warily.

 

“I’m no Tirzah,” she says softly.

 

“And I am no King Solomon,” he replies, “But I have been told that it is customary to give poetry before you ask a woman on a date.”

 

The smile she gives lights up her face, starting at her eyes and spreading to her mouth. As if her body cannot hope to hold it, she runs forward, jumping at Vision, blithely certain she will not fall.

  
Vision catches Wanda, and the two float there, held in one another’s arms, against the setting sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's the end of Song of Songs. It was a quick ride, but I enjoyed it. There will be a sequel detailing their first date at some point, but I can't guarantee when that will be - life is kinda busy for me, hence the rapidity of the updates, trying to fit them in as quickly as possible in the time I had.  
> The poem Vision gives Wanda is a heavily edited quote from a different part of Song of Songs (or Song of Solomon) - one that actively compares the queen character in it to Tirzah and the king character to Solomon. Look it up if you haven't read it yourself, it's an interesting poem.

**Author's Note:**

> This turned out a lot darker than I intended it to be. Turns out when your consequences of a fanfic are 'everyone is hallucinating' instead of 'the couch is on fire on the lawn' the tone of the fic drops from wacky misadventures to dark mcdarkarsons. Ah, well.


End file.
